That’s my hope for Johnny Manziel these days—that perhaps the only college athlete outside of Manti Te’o whose personal life could fascinate mainstream America doesn’t, at any point while he still belongs to college football fans, become a non-football story.

Johnny Manziel's fame will grow to new heights if he corrals his outgoing personality. (AP Photo)

Believe me, I’m not saying there’s anything in Manziel’s personal life that should fascinate anybody. But it’s not unimaginably far from here to Katie Couric’s couch, not when you’re a phenomenon of fame and rock-star appeal like Johnny Football.

Te’o’s sad, strange, embarrassing hoax story would’ve gotten a tiny fraction of the attention it did had he been the No. 1 player at most any other school. Had he been a left guard or a punter even at Notre Dame, there’s a good chance no one outside the college football bubble even hears about it.

Manziel—with his dazzling play and his killer nickname, both of which he amplified on a November Saturday in Tuscaloosa—was testing the walls of that bubble even before he won the Heisman Trophy. Since his glorious trip to New York, it’s become obvious the walls just plain aren’t going to hold him.

Simply put, Manziel is the most uniquely famous college athlete since Tim Tebow. Only he has the potential to be far more famous—and more hyped—than Tebow was.

Someday, we may look upon Manziel as a Tebow-type phenomenon with an even better game. Already, he’s a Tebow-type phenomenon with a fun-loving, mischievous side.

Of course, that’s the side of him that I’m a little bit concerned about these days. I wouldn’t put it as bluntly as Oklahoma defensive coordinator Mike Stoops did when he went on the radio and suggested Texas A&M will be lucky if its quarterback keeps himself out of jail and eligible to play. Yeah, that was over the top. But I won’t pretend not to know where Stoops was coming from.

Manziel’s clearly enjoying his fame—and reveling in it with some defiance—and that’s where I begin to wonder: Is that the part of his personality that gives him the chance to become the college game’s greatest of all time? Or is that the part of his personality that might eventually lead him to get in his own way?

I’m pretty sure the answer is both.

Off the field, since winning the Heisman, he’s been having a blast while—how to put this?—kind of going out of his way to stick it to the man.

You bet Manziel knew people would talk about his courtside seat at a Dallas Mavericks-Miami Heat game, whether or not he had the personal funds to buy the ticket himself.

And then there was the photo he staged with a young patient at a children’s hospital—the boy, a big Johnny Football fan, holding fake money fanned out in his hand, mimicking the very “controversial” shot Manziel had been forced to take down. Hey, this really showed Manziel’s sense of humor. Also, that he doesn’t take others’ concerns (like those of his athletic director, Eric Hyman, who has asked him to behave better) very seriously at all, because there’s a limit to which Manziel will allow himself to be molded into the perfect student-athlete soldier.

And I can really respect all that.

I can forgive the street fight and fake-ID incident that got Manzil arrested early last summer, too. This sort of thing happens to a lot of college dudes who go on to be terrific people. Right?

But you take all of it together, and why wouldn’t you at least question his judgment?

In a late-November conference call with reporters, Manziel—who, by team rule, had been kept from the media throughout his freshman season—was asked about his arrest five months earlier.

“I’ve had to make a lot of changes in my life,” Manziel said.

But in January, he told the ESPN cameras about the hubbub surrounding his postseason victory lap: “I’m the same person I’ve always been, still trying to be the same person. That’s what makes me who I am on the field and off the field.”

I’m thinking now that the second quote was more honest.

Tebow won with his arm, his legs and—a sea of devotees might’ve said—with God on his side.

Manziel wins with his arm, his legs and a dynamic, devil-may-care attitude.

With his trademark giddyup into the end zone, what’s he saying to the other team? He’s saying the same thing he did when he hoisted that champagne bottle and fanned that cash.

You can’t stop me. I win.

It’s gotten him this far. But when does it begin to block his path to the sort of greatness Stoops had in mind when he said Manziel could win three or four Heismans? When does it begin to keep him from realizing his G.O.A.T. potential?

Maybe—hopefully—it never will. But only Manziel can make sure it doesn’t. To do that, he might just have to slow his roll a bit.